


Disincentive

by m_class



Category: Star Trek Online, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: (thank you Ellen), Angst, Ellen Landry Lives, Ellen and Michael bickering, Episode: s01e04 The Butcher's Knife Cares Not for the Lamb's Cry, F/F, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Michael's self-endangerment, Mildly Crude Language, No Lesbians Die, Spoilers, Star Trek Online spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 06:31:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18845560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/m_class/pseuds/m_class
Summary: “Get me a greeting card.”Michael looks back up from her PADD at the sound of Landry’s demanding drawl. “Excuse me, Commander?”Landry shifts slightly, sliding higher on the pillows of her half-reclined sickbay bed. “I said, get me a greeting card. From the synthesizer. And a pen.” She waves in the direction of the sickbay synthesizer in the far wall, adding, as an afterthought, “Please.”





	Disincentive

**Author's Note:**

> I.....don't completely dislike the choice to give Landry a fiancée, nor am I trying to imply that gay women characters should never have anything bad happen to them ever, but........given that Trek's only two named, TV canon f/f couples (Jadzia and Lenara and Jett and her wife) have had one-half die violently I'm :| about this as the choice for Trek's third TV-canon-adjacent f/f couple (Landry's sexuality and Patel are beta canon, but Landry herself is a TV canon character). So, here is a fix-it where both Ellen and Amna are alive and well.
> 
> I don't play STO, so thanks to the folks at sapphicstartrek who brought up Ellen and Amna's relationship!
> 
> The paper card in this story is a shoutout to the importance of some paper mail in elissastillstands's gorgeous Landry Lives, Ellen x Michael fic [Guess We'll Make For Shore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17557244/chapters/41375606).

“Get me a greeting card.”

Michael looks back up from her PADD at the sound of Landry’s demanding drawl. “Excuse me, Commander?”

Landry shifts slightly, sliding higher on the pillows of her half-reclined sickbay bed. “I said, get me a greeting card. From the synthesizer. And a pen.” She waves in the direction of the sickbay synthesizer in the far wall, adding, as an afterthought, “Please.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely,” Michael says drily. It’s oddly comforting to have Landry coming back to her usual asshole self after her quiet responses to Michael’s status briefing, a briefing she had insisted on having only five hours after regaining consciousness from her near-death at Ripper’s claws.

There are programs for seven very generic old-fashioned paper cards. Michael glances back toward Landry, hand hovering over the screen. “What kind of card?”

“Blank.” A pause. “Something pretty.”

Following “Happy Birthday!” “Thank you,” “Congratulations!” “With sympathy,” and “Celebrate!” on the display are two blank cards. Michael chooses the second, which features a somewhat generic-looking picture of a flower, and snags a pen from Culber’s workstation while the card and its envelope synthesize.

Walking back toward Landry, she is struck again by how worn the other woman looks. Michael might not think very highly of Landry’s--well, Landry’s anything, with “demeanor,” “moral compass” and “professionalism” somewhere near the top of the list--but she is a fellow officer, and dedicated, and principled, Michael thinks, somewhere in there. She genuinely wants the war to end, anyway.

It’s enough. Enough for Michael to want to be here; enough for concern to bubble up inside her as Landry weakly pulls her hands out from under the blankets. She gently hands the materials to Landry, then offers her her own PADD as a writing surface.

“If you could take it to be sent,” Landry says, more quietly, a moment later, as she uncaps the pen, “You’d have my gratitude, Specialist.”

Landry is sending a physical card to someone offship? Michael’s surprise must show on her face, because Landry scratches a few lines onto the greeting card, then says, without looking up, “For my fiancée. She’s Starfleet, too. She made me promise that if I ever nearly died on this tour, I had to send her a card.” More scratching, the pen looping in graceful arcs that look suspiciously as though Landry is applying doodles or decorations to the card’s interior. “I hate sappy shit. So it’s meant to be a disincentive for me ‘risking my life unnecessarily.’” Not looking up at Michael, she jams the card into its bright lavender envelope, marking the recipient’s vessel and routing number on the back of it. “And a commanding officer has to sign off on physical mail, so I think Amna hopes having a letter to a fiancée pass through their hands will guilt them into not ‘risking my life unnecessarily’ any time soon, either.” Landry rolls her eyes, sinking back into her pillow.

Michael doubts Lorca cares. She stretches her hand out for the envelope. “I’ll see that this gets to her,” she says gently.

Landry jerks her head in what might be a nod of thanks, her eyes drifting closed.

Michael is a few steps away when Landry’s voice calls after her.

“Specialist?”

Michael turns. Landry’s tired eyes are open again, looking at her.

“You have anyone to owe a card to, after your dumbass stunts?”

Cautiously, Michael shakes her head.

“Find someone, huh?” Landry’s eyelids flutter, and Michael blinks. “A friend, someone you’re fucking, I don’t care. Maybe it’ll disincentivise you from playing tag with monsters.” She is, Michael realizes, referring to Michael’s attempt to lure Ripper away from the away team on the Glenn.

Michael blinks again.

As though sensing her puzzlement, Landry mumbles, eyes drifting closed, “For a disgraced mutineer, you’re all right, Burnham. I don’t wanna have to break in some new scientist who’s even more idealistic and dumber.”

Michael rolls her own eyes. “Thanks, Landry. Sleep well,” she adds.

Landry grunts, her face already relaxing into sleep. Michael sighs again, feeling a half-smile rise to her lips in spite of herself at the sight of her, safe and resting in the heart of Discovery.

Glancing down at the card in her hand, she steps through the sickbay doors, heading down the hall toward shipping and receiving.


End file.
